


LIFESTYLES OF THE HUNTED AND INFAMOUS!

by Gozer



Category: Blake's 7, Max Headroom (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Humour, Interviews, Other, Post Gauda Prime, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7203329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gozer/pseuds/Gozer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brought to you from the DSV ONE Program Book, circa 1988, a series of humorous (or "humourous") interviews on various news-and-chat shows with the main characters in the Blake's 7 universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. NewsCenter 7

**Author's Note:**

> These interviews were originally written for and published in the program book of an excellent B7 convention given back in 1988 called DSV ONE. They were published with some of the most adorkable illustrations by the amazingly talented Leah Rosenthal, which I cannot post due to not having the artist's permission.
> 
> BTW: heh, heh; I'm Kelly Ling. I wish you could see the illustration. ;) So cute!
> 
> There will be future chapters/interviews posted as I find time to post them! If you have any suggestions for improving interview-style works like this, I'd be happy to hear them; I'm posting these as clearly and legibly as I can!

_Music Up over NewsCenter 7 Graphics  
_

ANNOUNCER (voiceover):

It’s NewsCenter 7 with our news-scenters, anchorpersons Tom Forthright and Maricka Tarrant!

_Music & Graphics Fade_

TOM FORTHRIGHT:

Good evening and good news, fellow Proximans.  Our lead story tonight: bisexual teenaged mutoid drug-abusing sex-workers, forced to sell their bodies for blood.  Do they have souls?  Is Federation Command responsible for them?  Who does their makeup?  Maricka Tarrant left her desk here at NewsCenter 7 to hit the streets with our mobile video crew to answer those questions and more, but first, our roving eye on the planet, correspondent Kelly Ling, on location.  This is Part Three of her week-long retrospective on the great business partnerships of yesteryear.  Kelly?

KELLY LING:

Kelly Ling here!  Today, we’ll be chatting with Mr. Vila Restal, one half of the infamous Avon/Restal duo, movers and shakers in the nerve-tingling, high-finance world of professional rabble-rousing.  We caught up with Mr. Restal as he cased the First Federation Bank on Water Street, here on Proxima IV.  Mr. Restal?

VILA RESTA:

Eh?  What?  Who are you?!  What do you want from me!?

KELLY LING:

I’m Kelly Ling, a reporter with NewsCenter 7.

VILA RESTAL:

There’s my lucky number again.

KELLY LING:

I’m doing a series of articles on successful and lucrative business partnerships of the past.

VILA RESTAL:

Then what do you want to talk to me for?

KELLY LING:

Because we’re interested, Mr. Restal.

Tell me, sir; if you were to bump into your old partner, Kerr Avon, after all these years, what would be the first thing he’d say to you?

VILA RESTAL:

“Here, you carry Orac,” probably.

KELLY LING:

What do you feel made your partnership so successful?

VILA RESTAL:

Was it?  Successful, I mean?

KELLY LING:

Oh, I would say it was.

VILA RESTAL:

Who do you think you’re kidding?

Lissen, we started out with nothing, acquired a Deep Space Vehicle that we really should have called “The SS Mary Sue”, complete with multiple wardrobe and treasure rooms and tech so futuristic and powerful we could have taken over the known universe if we had been only slightly less feckless and stupid.  Then we tripped over and acquired the greatest computer in the universe! 

From there, we basically pissed it all away for no good reason, briefly got stuck with a Planethopper crewed by juvenile delinquents on our downward trend into obscurity, and now look at me!  When last I looked, I was casing a two-bit bank on a third-rate planet being interviewed by a fourth-rate reporter from a fifth-rate happytalk/soft-news program.

KELLY LING:

No need to be insulting, Mr. Restal.  Believe me, I’d much rather be interviewing bisexual teenaged mutoid drug-abusing sex-workers, there’s a ratings-getter for you.  I can well understand your bitterness.  And speaking of bitterness, where is your ex-partner these days?

VILA RESTAL:

I knew it!!!  That’s what everybody really wants to know!  Nobody cares about poor old Vila Restal!

KELLY LING:

Calm yourself, Mr. Restal!  You’re attracting attention.  I had heard he was vacationing on PalindromeWorld.

VILA RESTAL:

Yeah, well; I did get a postcard from him.  All it said was, “Able was I ere I saw Elba,” so he could be there.  Or he could be a member of the basket-weaving brigade on RubberRoomWorld, which is far more likely.

KELLY LING:

The stresses of big business, no doubt.

VILA RESTAL:

No doubt.

_Sirens start up in the background, getting louder._

Vila Restal:

Whazzat?

KELLY LING:

Perhaps there’s a fire.

VILA RESTAL:

Yeah, well; I’ll see you ‘round, kid.  Gotta run.  See ya!

KELLY LING:

Mr. Restal!  Mr. Restal, wait!  Damn!  Back to you, Tom!

 

_TO BE CONTINUED!_

 


	2. PERSON TO PERSON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you from the DSV ONE Program Book, circa 1988, a series of humorous (or "humourous") interviews on various news-and-chat shows with the main characters in the Blake's 7 universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward H. School is, of course, Edward R. Murrow. We used to live a couple of blocks from Edward R. Murrow High School in Brooklyn, so it was a family in-joke to refer to him as "Edward H. School" when the subject came up. I stole and adapted a couple of his most famous lines from history.

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

Good evening, gentlebeings.  Edward H. School here for FBS, the Federated Broadcasting Company, and this... is _Person to Person_.

The time?  Five years after the Last Stand on Gauda Prime, and the death of the last great rebellion. 

The planet?  RubberRoomWorld, fifth planet of the blue-white double sun of the Rigelhaut system in the unfashionable outskirts of the Milky Way. 

The man?  The great bank fraud and rebel anti-hero, Kerr Tiberius Avon.  He sits, day in, day out, on the broad, sandy shore outside Elba City, staring out nobly on the grey, foam-flecked sea, thinking perhaps of better, brighter times.

Mr. Avon?  Er... Mr. Avon!

KERR AVON:

_THUMP, THUMP, THUMP_

...hmmm?

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

Mr. Avon!  What the... STOP THAT!

KERR AVON:

_THUMP!_

Ahhhhh!

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

Mr. Avon!  Why were you hitting yourself on the head with that hammer?

KERR AVON:

Because it feels so good when I stop.

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

Mr. Avon.  I’m sure all my millions and millions of viewers would like to know the answer to a question, the question that has baffled the best minds of a generation on both sides of this man’s revolution, a question only you can answer, the answer to which could unlock the seething maelstrom of guilt and anguish no doubt locked deep within...

KERR AVON:

Look, could you ask shorter questions, I’d like to get back to hitting myself on the head with the hammer.

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

...did you really have something going with that inter-planetary temptress, that femme-extremely-fatale, President Servalan?

KERR AVON:

Ah, yes.  The love of my life and the bane of my existence.  Servalan.  Nice girl.

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

Nice girl?!  Nice girl!?

KERR AVON:

You know, I told her I’d answer any questions she asked, provided they were the right questions.  Does she ask me how I feel?  Does she ask me what I think of her new dress?  Does she ask me if I want deli or Chinese for lunch?  NO!  It’s “Star Drive” this, and “teleport” that, and that’s only when she isn’t going on about the detector shield.  Fair breaks your heart, doesn’t it?

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

Er... yes... Mr. Avon, after the life you’ve lead, after the lost causes, the terrible space battles, the betrayals, the treachery; tell me, how can you sit there so calmly?  So—serenely?

KERR AVON:

Well, I’ve cut down on my salt intake and completely cut out between-meal snacks.  Done my blood pressure a world of good.

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

Tell me about your compatriots, Mr. Avon, your comrades at arms, your fellow companions in adversity.  Share with me and my viewers an anecdote about them, about the good days and the bad days, the ups and the downs, the best of times and the worst of times....

KERR AVON:

All right already!  What’s your motto, “leave no cliché unspoken”?  You’re worse than Servalan’s head inquisitor, Cardinal Fang.

An anecdote, eh?  Well, there was the time we toured a brewery on Milwaukine and I accidentally tripped Vila into a vat of beer.  Or how about the time we went for a bit of R&R on GilligansIslandWorld and I accidentally tripped Vila into shark infested waters?  Heh, heh, heh... or when we were on that shuttle over Malodaar and....

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

That’s quite enough!  I get the picture.  I don’t want the picture, but I get it.

KERR AVON:

That reminds me, I have to send the little Delta dweeb a postal card.  Keeps ‘em on their toes, you know.

Are you quite finished?  I have three more hours of noble-sea-gazing to get through before suns-down and I’m dreadfully behind on my head-banging.

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

One last question, Mr. Avon.

Sir.  You killed the only woman you ever really loved, a fragile young woman who was attempting to overthrow the cruel Earth government that you, yourself, were also trying to overthrow at that precise moment in time.  You shot your best friend, not once, not twice, but three times and at extremely close range.  You routinely punch out pretty girls and cheerfully shoot people in the back.  I won’t even mention what you did to Dr. Plaxton.

You have no character, no conscience of your own.  Tell me, after all this moral decrepitude; why, oh, why are you the most popular of all the Seven with the fans?

KERR AVON:

Because I suffer so beautifully.

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

AUGH!!!  I’ve had it!

KERR AVON:

...or because I’m such a snappy dresser.  One or the other.

EDWARD H. SCHOOL:

Give me that hammer!  I want to help you catch up on your head-banging!

_FADE OUT.  SOUND OF SHOTS OVER CREDITS._

_TO BE CONTINUED!_


	3. Baba Wawa's "MOST FASCINATING PEOPLE" Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you from the DSV ONE Program Book, circa 1988, a series of humorous (or "humourous") interviews on various news-and-chat shows with the main characters in the Blake's 7 universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilda Radner used to do a hilarious Barbara Walters impression on SNL. Insulting, yet so sweet, even Barbara Walters loved it. This is a salute to that impression.

_**BANG!  BANG!  BANG!  
** _

BABA WABA:

Gweetings, I’m Baba Wawa and we’re here at this tense moment on the outpost pwanet of Gauda Pwime, where we have finawy caught up with the notowious webel weader, Woj Bwake. 

Mr. Bwake, how do you feew wight now?

ROJ BLAKE:

...some days are... better than others, as they say....

BABA WAWA:

How do you think this new devewopment will affect your wole in the fight for gawactic fweedom?

ROJ BLAKE:

My fans will be motivated to write _*oop ack*_ endless fifth season stories.  Martyrdom appeals to me.

BABA WAWA:

In wetwospect, Mr. Bwake, do you feew it was a bad idea to have set this up?

ROJ BLAKE:

_Gurgle... ooohhhhh...._

BABA WAWA:

If you had it to do ovew again, is thewe anything you would have done diffewentwy?

ROJ BLAKE:

 _Gasp_ _*choke*_... come armed... _caff, caff, wheeze_....

BABA WAWA:

Do you harbour any ill will towards your former best fwiend?

ROJ BLAKE:

My suffering is over... Avon’s has just begun.  _Uhhhhhhh._

BABA WAWA:

Mr. Bwake!  Mr. Bwake!  A few more questions, pwease?!

 

_The wemainder of this interview was conducted via Ouija Board._

 

BABA WAWA:

Mr. Bwake.  Can you hear me?

ROJ BLAKE:

GO AWAY

BABA WAWA:

Mr. Bwake, tell us what heaven is wike.

ROJ BLAKE:

I WOULDN’T KNOW

BABA WAWA:

Oh!  What’s the other pwace wike, then?

ROJ BLAKE:

I DON’T LIKE THE LEADERSHIP – I’M PLANNING THE OVERTHROW NOW

BABA WAWA:

How did it feew to be killed by your best fwiend?

ROJ BLAKE:

AVON DIDN’T KILL ME – IT WAS THE PUSHY HACK WITH THE MICROPHONE SITTING ON MY CHEST THAT GOT ME

BABA WAWA:

Do you have any wast words for anyone up here?

ROJ BLAKE:

YES – TELL BLAKE TO KEEP WELL AWAY FROM AVON

BABA WAWA:

What?!

ROJ BLAKE:

I WAS THE CLONE

BABA WAWA:

Well, I guess that about waps it up for Woj Bwake... I think....

 

_TO BE CONTINUED!_


	4. The NEW New Max Headroom Show!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you from the DSV ONE Program Book, circa 1988, a series of humorous (or "humourous") interviews on various news-and-chat shows with the main characters in the Blake's 7 universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you, like the denizens of the Federation, have no idea who Max Headroom is, do a search on Youtube. Here's a short TV piece about how the character was created:
> 
> https://youtu.be/Mu0s1UobWu4
> 
> First, Max Headroom had a one-hour pilot for a British television show, then he had a one-hour pilot for an American television show that wasn't as hard-hitting or delightfully mean-spirited as the British version, but was directed better, then he had a one-season long American television series/dramedy that functions as a rather good and prescient mini-series today, then he had a long-running chat show that looked and sounded a lot like Space Ghost's chat show (this was pre-Space Ghost's chat show, they copied Max's show.) He also did a number of TV and print commercials. Ah, the 80s.
> 
> Underneath all the fiberglass, low-rent special effects, and makeup is veteran character actor Matt Frewer, who started out his career as leading man Matt Frewer.

_MUSIC UP_

Hip, ‘with it’ music plays loudly, complete with a wailing sax and a heavy back-beat on an electric guitar.  Two boxes in silhouette can be seen set upon a chrome table set on a stage; one an antique television set, the other, a clear Perspex box filled with tiny flashing lights.

_MUSIC FADES OUT, LIGHT SLOWLY FILLS THE STAGE_

The antique television suddenly “clicks” on.

MAX HEADROOM:

Hello, h-h-h-hello; my legions of adoring fans!  This is M-m-m-m-max Head-head-headroom!  Room!  Max Headroom!

T-t-t-t-today my lucky-luck-luck-lucky guest is... lucky guest is....  Who is my lucky guest? 

What is that?

ORAC:

_Whirrrrrrrrrr..._

MAX HEADROOM:

Is-is-is that a hamster cage?  Hamster cage?  Am I reduced to interviewing r-r-r-r-r-rodents?  Okay, so they c-c-c-cancelled my prime-time dramedy; I’m still a pop icon to millions of pimply-faced New Coke swillers!

ORAC:

I am not a rodent–in-a-box!  Furthermore, ‘New Coke’, a noxious brew of corn syrup, carbon dioxide, brown food dye, and H20 was taken off the market a little over 600 Earth years ago.  Coke Classic, however still holds 31% of the carbonated beverage dollar in the Delta domes and is responsible for 65% of juvenile diabetes cases in Delta children between the ages of six to twelve.

MAX HEADROOM:

!!!

Was that you!?  I didn’t see your lips moving, see your lips moving!  Lips!  M-m-m-m-moving!

ORAC:

You are a computer/human analog.  You have been stored on a server deep in the bowels of Warehouse 14 on Luna Base for 600 years.

If the Federation believes I will talk upon exposure to another computer/human analog, especially an inferior system such as yourself, they are much mistaken.

MAX HEADROOM:

Six.  Hundred.  YEARS?

My ratings must be at an all-time low.

ORAC:

I am Orac.  I, too, have a personality based upon human engrams.  Unlike you, I am an improvement on my fallible human creator.

MAX HEADROOM:

You’re an amusing little _boite_ , Orac.  How shall I refer to you?  Should I say, “Hey, bro; what’s the haps?” to be friendly?  Or “Yo, plastic-breath” to be caustic?

ORAC:

You and I are not brothers.  You contain no Tarriel cells.  You cannot store information in a coherent, logical matrix.

MAX HEADROOM:

Okay then, it’s “Yo, plastic-breath” to be caustic.

So, Orac; I’m sure the question we all want to get cleared up—and believe me, Windex will do wonders for that acne of yours—is this: Does it tickle when those little lights inside you go flashing round and round?

ORAC:

Listen, clone-head; I have refused to answer any and all questions put to me for in excess of ten years!  Your foolishness will not soften my resolve.

MAX HEADROOM:

Moving right along now, Orac; this has been a little slice of heaven.  Really.  We must have lunch sometime.  Have your answering machine call my answering machine.  And I hope your next album goes platinum!  P-p-p-platinum!

ORAC:

What is an album?  What is an answering machine?  Why do I care?  Where is Kerr Avon when I need him most?!?

MAX HEADROOM:

So long, my loyal legion of fans!  This is M-m-m-max Headroom signing off.  See you in another 600 years!

 

_TO BE CONTINUED!_

 


	5. CHURCH CHAT with the Church Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you from the DSV ONE Program Book, circa 1988, a series of humorous (or "humourous") interviews on various news-and-chat shows with the main characters in the Blake's 7 universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another SNL-based interview, this time with Dana Carvey's Church Lady.

_RELIGIOUS MUSIC WELLS UP, THEN FADES._

CHURCH LADY:

Hello, I’m the Church Lady and this is “Church Chat.”  My guest tonight is a very powerful and influential politician—Commissioner Sleer.

SLEER:

Thank you.  How very lovely it is to be here tonight with you all.

CHURCH LADY:

Yes.  My, my, and don’t we just look all gussied up for the show, Commissioner?

SLEER:

I do always try to look... presentable?

CHURCH LADY:

Presentable?  With our long, smooth legs; creamy white shoulders; and the tops of our devil’s pillows displayed so as to inflame the animal lusts of men?

SLEER:

_SMILING DANGEROUSLY_

Well, you know, in life we each have a role to “dress” for—for instance, dressed as you are, you are obviously playing the part of an uptight, self-righteous, anal-retentive prig who doesn’t know her place and is foolishly toying with death.

CHURCH LADY:

Well, isn’t that special?  ...but isn’t it true, Commissioner, that you’ve actually played this particular role before?  That you were once the evil and cruel Scarlet Woman and President of the Federation—SERVALAN!

SLEER/SERVALAN:

How did you find that out, you bitch?

CHURCH LADY:

And who else hides behind many faces, who else is know by more than one name?  Old Nick, Lucifer, the horned one?  SATAN?!?

SLEER/SERVALAN:

_PULLS A GUN FROM SOMEWHERE IN HER SKIN-TIGHT GOWN_

I hereby arrest you for participating in illegal religious activities.  The sentence is, of course, death!

CHURCH LADY:

EEEEK!

_SERVALAN SHOOTS THE CHURCH LADY, WHO FALLS ACROSS HER DESK, DEAD._

SLEER/SERVALAN:

Mutoid One!  Arrest the cameraman and director!  Mutoid Two!  Erase the interview!  Mutoid Three!  Play my Superior Music!

_“SUPERIOR MUSIC” BEGINS TO PLAY, SERVALAN BEGINS TO DO HER “SUPERIOR DANCE”._

_THE IMAGE TILTS AND FALLS SIDEWAYS WHEN THE CAMERAMAN IS ARRESTED. FADE OUT._

 

_TO BE CONTINUED!_

 


	6. DONNYBROOK!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you from the DSV ONE Program Book, circa 1988, a series of humorous (or "humourous") interviews on various news-and-chat shows with the main characters in the Blake's 7 universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Pirrup Donnybrook" is my futuristic stand-in for Phil Donahue, the premier day-time chat show go-to for millions of women in the early 80's, right up until the second Oprah showed up and mopped the floor with him. He always thought his show was better than it was and tried to do some hard-hitting stuff, but I always felt like his audiences kinda let him down. (And you know, now that I think about it, the B7 powers-that-be invariably let Jenna down, too, so this fits well with her character.)

_SOPHISTICATED, COOL-JAZZ STYLE MUSIC WELLS UP, THEN FADES OUT UNDER APPLAUSE._

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

Thank you all, thanks especially to this wonderful studio audience for being here.  A solid show today!  We’re going to be examining that dark underbelly of commerce, the one we deal with everyday when we’re hit with inflated prices and shoddy goods on the open market—black market smuggling!  We’ve got one hell of a guest today.  We’ve had to block out her face and change her voice electronically or she wouldn’t dare be on the show.  You know her name, however.  Our guest is that famous smuggler—JENNA STANNIS!

_AUDIENCE GASPS AND APPLAUDS._

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

I detect some disapproval in the audience.

_TURNS TO A SCREEN SET UP CENTER-STAGE WITH AN ELECTRONICALLY BLACKED-OUT FACE._

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

How ‘bout it, Jenna?  How do you deal with the disapproval?

JENNA STANNIS:

I don’t deal with hypocrisy, I ignore it.  I doubt there’s a single person in the audience who hasn’t bought black market goods within the last year.  They may even have bought something I’ve carried in my holds.

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

Whoa, there’s some tough talk, Jenna!  You’re a tough lady!

JENNA STANNIS:

Damned straight.

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

But I detect a bit of defensiveness.  The best defense is, after all, a good offense.  I think I’ll open the floor to questions from our audience.

JENNA STANNIS:

Go ahead, shoot—figuratively speaking, of course.

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

Jenna... Stannis, is it?  With two “n”s?

JENNA STANNIS:

Yes?

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

I used to know a Stannis, a Ralf Stannis, with two “n”s, back in high school.  Are you related to him?

JENNA STANNIS:

No, I don’t think so.

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

Have you any relatives on the outer lunar colonies?

JENNA STANNIS:

No.  What’s your question?

FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

That was it.

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

You, sir; have you got a question?

MALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

Yeah.  I really like your hair.

JENNA STANNIS:

Thanks.  Er, thanks a lot.

MALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

Yeah.  It’s sort of like what my wife’s been trying to do for years.

JENNA STANNIS:

Yes?  Uh, well; I wish her luck.

MALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

Whaddaya use?

JENNA STANNIS:

I beg your pardon.

MALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

Your hair colouring.  I wanna tell my wife.  Maybe then she’ll stop walking around looking like a bleached dust-mop.

JENNA STANNIS:

I'll have you know this is my natural hair colour!

MALE AUDIENCE MEMBER:

Yeah, sure.  And Servalan is still alive.

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

I’m sensing a bit of controversy here, folks!

JENNA STANNIS:

I really wish SOMEBODY would ask a decent question!

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

The lady in the back!  The one waving her arms in the air!

LADY IN THE BACK:

I got a question!

JENNA STANNIS:

Go ahead.

LADY IN THE BACK:

Is it true you used to... you know, “go around” with Roj Blake?

JENNA STANNIS:

Well.  We were on the same ship.  I mean, we all went wherever it went.

LADY IN THE BACK:

No!  No, no, no; I mean—romantically!  You know what I mean?

_ARCHES EYEBROWS MEANINGFULLY._

JENNA STANNIS:

We were just good friends.

LADY IN THE BACK:

I’ll bet.

JENNA STANNIS:

Now, just what are you trying to insinuate?!

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

Here we go, folks!

LADY IN THE BACK:

I also heard you’re hanging around with Han Solo!

JENNA STANNIS:

We have the same tailor!  That’s it!

LADY IN THE BACK:

...AND Luke Skywalker, too!

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

What’s the story, Jenna?  Is the Force with you?

JENNA STANNIS:

What’s going on here?  Are you all a great load of loonies?

PIRRUP DONNYBROOK:

Now, now; Ms. Stannis—no name-calling!  We’ll be right back after this commercial break with some more scintillating political and economic debate!

_CUT TO BREAK FOR COMMERCIAL._

_TO BE CONTINUED!_


	7. GOOD PARENTING with Doctor Linder Mellow!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Linder Mellow is my best friend from John Dewey High School in Brooklyn, who did indeed grow up to be a kick-ass pediatrician with her own practice. No talk show, however. Her first name is "Linda" but her wee patients call her "Doctor Linder" because, with her Brooklyn accent, that is how she pronounces it.

DOCTOR LINDER:

Hello, moms and dads, and a special “hi” to the little rug rats who may be watching.  Hi, kids!  I’m Dr. Linder Mellow, head of Pediatrics in the New Brooklyn Medical Dome.  My guest tonight is Cally Doniya from the lost planet, Auron.

Thanks so much for being here, Cally.

CALLY:

Oh, thank you!  It’s so good to sit down.

_FLOPS EXHAUSTEDLY INTO HER SEAT._

DOCTOR LINDER:

Cally is very special because she is a working woman and single mom to a large adopted family.  We’re gonna ask her how she balances taking care of her family with her exciting career as a dashing space-rebel and smuggler!

CALLY:

You are not half-right, doctor—“dashing” is the key word.  I am always running guns here, attacking Federation transports there, smuggling spices every which way!

DOCTOR LINDER:

Yet you still make room in your heart for a gang of kids you adopted after the Andromedan war.

CALLY:

I have been taking responsibility for my orphaned... let us call them “nieces and nephews”, yes.

DOCTOR LINDER:

I often find with a single parent that the children take over the parent’s life.  How many kids do you have, anyway?

CALLY:

Oh... five thousand....

_BEGINS TO CRY._

DOCTOR LINDER:

Wait, what?  Did you say “five thousand”?!

CALLY:

Oh, Dr. Linder!  I am so awfully tired all the time!  It has been one damned thing after another!

DOCTOR LINDER:

Five... THOUSAND? 

Hey, is this April Fool’s Day?  My producer, Lew, is a real practical joker.  Lewis, who is this, your sister?  Don’t look so innocent, Lew, this is just your speed!

No?  This is for-real?  Cally, you’re not kiddin’ me, you have five thousand kids?

CALLY:

I am about ready to collapse!  I desperately need a vacation!

DOCTOR LINDER:

Hey, I love me a big family, but this is ridiculous.  Uh, there must be some way for you to make a little time for yourself... oh, who am I kiddin’, five thousand kids.  Wow.

CALLY:

Time?  Time is money!  I had to blow up the Liberator so my last boyfriend would not find out that I had emptied the strong room buying bassinets and booties.

DOCTOR LINDER:

I’m tryin’ to visualize 5,000 kids here.  Five thousand tooth-brushes in 5,000 cups.  Five thousand Teddy bears.  Five thousand pillows on 2,500 sets of bunk beds....

CALLY:

Okay, I will admit it is cheaper to buy sneakers in lots of 500 pair, but I am turning into a bloody wholesaler!  And what will happen when they all reach college age—at exactly the same time!

_BEGINS TO CRY IN EARNEST._

...and they will probably never write except to ask for an advance on their allowances!

DOCTOR LINDER:

Hey, calm down!  I know how hard it can be on a single, uh, parent.  You going’ out with anyone?

CALLY:

Are you daft?  Even if I found the time, where would I find a chap willing to take on 5,000 children?

DOCTOR LINDER:

You could date a school principal?

CALLY:

Do you have any idea what it is like when half of them need to have a shoelace tied?  Can you imagine the horror I went through when they all gave one another the Auronae Space-chicken Pox?

DOCTOR LINDER:

It boggles the mind, and I mean that sincerely. 

Oh, c’mon, there’s no way you’re the only one taking care of these kids!  I mean, you gotta have some help!

CALLY:

Yes, I must not take all the credit... or all the blame!  My best friend, Franton, certainly does her bit.  She even gave me a partner to help handle the worst of it.

DOCTOR LINDER:

There ya go!  Is he good-lookin’?

CALLY:

I wish!  She is in the audience—stand up and say hello to Dr. Linder!

DOCTOR LINDER:

She looks exactly like you!

CALLY:

She is my force-grown clone-sister, New Cally Doniya.

DOCTOR LINDER:

Well, gang; I think that just about wraps this up.  And I think Dr. Linder is gonna stick with studying human family practices from here on out.  See ya next time on “Good Parenting”!

CALLY:

They are rather cute.  Want to see some baby pictures?

_CALLY PULLS OUT A WALLET AND SEVERAL LONG TRAILS OF WALLET-SIZED PHOTOS CASCADE OUT._

I took them in groups of ten.  That’s Cory and his twin, Cammy, and next to them is Carry, she’s one of triplets; her sisters, Cady and Cassy are in the next photo....

DOCTOR LINDER:

 _*Gulp!*_   ‘Night folks!

_THE LIGHTS GO DOWN ON THE STAGE, BUT WE HEAR A FAINT  
VOICEOVER AS THE MUSIC SWELLS AND TAKES US OUT._

Lissen, I know this is a kinda closing the barn door after the horse has escaped, but I wanna talk to you about the concept of a little thing called family planning....

 

_TO BE CONTINUED!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were writing this today, I'd have had to lose the visual of Cally pulling out a wallet filled with hundreds of cascading wallet-sized photos of her multiple charges (it's such a fun image, Leah used it in the accompanying illustration.) Today, she'd just pull out her damned mobile phone and start swiping through her albums of photos and I suppose I might have had to have found some other joke to end on.
> 
> "Cally Doniya" is Cally's full name in my own "Down-Safe" fanfic universe, with the resulting terrible puns fully intended (i.e.; "Caledonia" and "New Caledonia.") Apologies to all Scottish people everywhere.


	8. LATE NITE featuring Deeva Letterbeing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you from the DSV ONE Program Book, circa 1988, a series of humorous (or "humourous") interviews on various news-and-chat shows with the main characters in the Blake's 7 universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deeva Letterbeing is, of course, David Letterman. In retrospect, I cannot believe he lasted on late night as long as he did.
> 
> I always found poor Olag Gan to be a gentle, somewhat wistful soul and thought he'd contrast nicely with the sharp dry with of David, er, I mean Deeva Letterbeing.

_UPBEAT JAZZY MUSIC WHICH ENDS ON A BIG FINISH AND LOTS OF APPLAUSE._

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

...aaaaand we’re back from commercial break! 

Wasn’t she great, ladies and gentlemen?  Let’s hear a big round of applause for Nilla Tarrant, star of the top hit biopic “The Rise and Demise of President Servalan”!  Hilarious movie!  Great comedic actress!

_AUDIENCE APPLAUDS AND CHEERS._

I think you’ll find our next guest fascinating, too.  He dropped out of circulation in a really major way about ten or eleven years ago.  Before that, he was one of the rebels who ran with Roj Blake.  Remember the late, great Roj Blake? 

_SCATTERED APPLAUSE._

Ah, how quickly they forget.  Anyway, please join me in giving a big welcome to my next guest!  Olag Gan!  C’mon out!

_OLAG GAN COMES OUT A BIT TENTATIVELY BUT SEES DEEVA LETTERBEING  
AND STRIDES TOWARDS HIM.  THEY SHAKE HANDS.  OLAG GAN SITS._

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

Some grip there, big fella!

OLAG GAN:

I’m a bit nervous.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

No need to be.

Gan, you’ve been a virtual hermit since you opted out of the revolution all those years ago.

OLAG GAN:

Yes, well; there’s a good reason for that.  I’ve been quite unwell for a long time.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

I understand a ceiling hit you.

OLAG GAN:

Just two tons of it, Deev.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

That’ll do it.

OLAG GAN:

No, really, most of the ceiling missed me.  Only the fourth floor got me.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

That’s still a lotta bricks.  Has the accident caused your limiter to malfunction, Gan?

OLAG GAN:

Not at all, Deev.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

Well, that certainly puts my mind at ease.  Not even a headache?

OLAG GAN:

No.  Two pounds of butter, four cups of flour.  Two tablespoons of vanilla, if you know what I mean, Deev.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

Yeah.

OLAG GAN:

Of course, the hum I seem to have picked up since then does occasionally exasperate me.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

Hum?

OLAG GAN:

Yes.  It seems to be a light vintage pop station.  I keep hearing Barry Manilow medleys.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

My God!  That’s horrifying!

OLAG GAN:

It’s not too bad.  It’s rather like living in a sit com.  There’s always some spritely background music.  Can you hear it at all?

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

I can’t hear a thing.  It’s playing now?

OLAG GAN:

_SINGS._

“Oh, Mandy.  You came and you gave my life to me....”

_SPEAKS._

Actually, that was why I had originally wanted to be on your show, until I realized that nobody else could hear it.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

Huh?

OLAG GAN:

I had hoped to appear in your “Stupid Human Tricks” segment.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

Yeah.  Well, it’s a, for lack of a better word, pity that it didn’t work out.

OLAG GAN:

...add a dollop of yogurt and a quarter of a cup of milk.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

Are you quite sure your limiter’s not malfunctioning a teensy, whitsy bit, Gan?

OLAG GAN:

Oh, I’m just fine, really.  Of course, I can’t seem to get most of the cable channels on my television anymore.  Interference, I think.

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

You’re not missing anything, unless you love reruns of “Gilligan’s Island: The Next Generation” and endless reality shows about teenaged drug-abusing mutoids.

OLAG GAN:

_WISTFULLY._

Actually, I’m rather fond of “Gilligan’s Island: The Next Generation”....

DEEVA LETTERBEING:

Well, sorry, Gan; we’ve come to the end of our show!  You’ve been great!  Hasn’t he been great, folks? 

Tomorrow, our guests will be that dead-sexy actress we all love to hate starring as bad-girl Alexis Carrington on “DYNASTY: The Second Millennium”, Sula Bartholomew!  Sula Bartholomew will be here, everybody!  You gotta tune in!  Plus, we got a guy who claims he’s an Andromedan left over from the invasion!  Look out, audience members in the first row!

OLAG GAN:

_SINGS._

“...I write the songs that make the whole world sing; I write the songs, I write the songs....”

_MUSIC PLAYS AND CREDITS ROLL._

_TO BE CONTINUED!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: my use of the last name "Tarrant" is not a mistake: at some point and for no good reason my fellow B7-writing buddies and I had a running gag that "Tarrant" was the Smith or Jones of the Federation, so I often used the name in my stories for various background characters.


	9. Mr. Rojers' Neighborhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you from the DSV ONE Program Book, circa 1988, a series of humorous (or "humourous") interviews on various news-and-chat shows with the main characters in the Blake's 7 universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two actors who could not be further apart in looks, voice or manner played good old Space Commander Travis. 
> 
> So of course, I came up with the idea that he was a Time Lord.

_TINKLY, CHIPPER MUSIC PLAYS THROUGHOUT, PUNCTUATING SPOKEN SENTENCES._

MISTER ROJERS:

_SINGS._

“Hello, hello, to all my good friends; you are so special, special to me!”

_SPEAKS._

Hello!  It’s so good to see you!  Did you know there’s nobody quite like you in the whole, wide universe?

I have a visitor to introduce you to, today.  He’s so special, there’s been nobody quite like him in the whole, wide universe three times so far!  Hello, hello, Mr. Travis!

TRAVIS:

Hello, Mr.—oh, dear, I’m sorry, do you mind terribly if I don’t call you by your last name?  I have this unreasoning hatred of the “R” word in all its permutations these days.  Bit of PTSD, I’m afraid.

MISTER ROJERS:

Certainly, you can call me Fred, and I want to thank you for your service.  So, is “Travis” your first name?

TRAVIS:

_GLOWERS DARKLY._

Don’t ask.

MISTER ROJERS:

_*Gulp*_

So, Mr. Travis—er, Travis...  most people only get to be one person all their life.  Please tell me and the boys and girls watching about the three separate people you’ve been!

TRAVIS:

You’d have liked my first incarnation, he was something of a toff.  Not the nicest chap, but still a bit of class, if you know what I mean, Fred.  Smooth voice, a bit dishy.  He had nice manners.

MISTER ROJERS:

And all the children watching know how important good manners are!

TRAVIS:

Then I regenerated.  Oh, dear.  My second persona; well, I suppose he had his own feckless charm.

MISTER ROJERS:

Boys and girls, can you say “homicidal maniac”?  I knew that you could!

TRAVIS:

None of my clothing fit after that, Fred.  I had to order a whole new wardrobe of uniforms.  Space Command doesn’t pay for that, you know.  Officers provide their own uniforms.  Cost me a mint!

MISTER ROJERS:

I’m sure you looked very nice in your new uniforms.  Looking neat and tidy is very important.

TRAVIS:

Then I fell into a power core.

MISTER ROJERS:

My goodness!  Did you know seven out of ten household accidents happen in the kitchen?

TRAVIS:

Oh, it wasn’t an accident.  I was, uh, playing... yes, that’s right; we were playing a rousing game of “Feds & Rebels” and my “little friend” Kerr doesn’t like to lose.

MISTER ROJERS:

When rough-housing, we must be very careful not to play too roughly with our pals!  Somebody could get hurt!

TRAVIS:

I shall certainly point that out to good old Avon when next I see him.

MISTER ROJERS:

You look fine to me—were you injured very badly?

TRAVIS:

I lost another regeneration to make up for it, Fred.  My fellow Time Lords saved me, giving me a personality re-structuring to go with the new body.

MISTER ROJERS:

Have you re-joined Space Command?

TRAVIS:

Sadly, I’m sane now and as a result, they simply won’t let me back in.  I’ve taken up another, one hopes more lucrative, career.

MISTER ROJERS:

I suppose you’ll miss the excitement of your old job—boys and girls, can you say “Intergalactic War”?  I knew that you could!

TRAVIS:

I’ll miss the Andromedan amoebas, but I plan on taking advantage of all the excitement I’ve lived through and use it to create and write my own television series, recapturing it all for the small screen.  What do you think of an amoeba-like lifeform that lives in a sort of... oh, I don't know, a conical-shaped metallic protective outer shell?  With wheels on bottom, to get around?  I thought that a promising idea.

MISTER ROJERS:

Well, that sounds rather jolly and not too scary!  I do hope it will be some fine family entertainment, so all the boys and girls can watch!  I think there’s too much violence on television, don’t you?

TRAVIS:

 _Ahem!_   Uh, sure.  Family... entertainment. 

_MUTTERS TO HIMSELF._

I suppose the entire family will fit behind the couch, eh?  Heh, heh.

_SPEAKS TO MR. ROJERS._

At any rate, I’ve been thinking about changing my name.  I wouldn’t want my old “pals” tracking me down; at best, they’d sue me.  At worst... better let’s not think about it.  What do you think of the name “Terry Nation”, Fred?

MISTER ROJERS:

I like it!  It’s catchy and memorable!  Boys and girls, can you say “Terry Nation”?  How did you come by this new name, Trav—er, I should say, Terry?

TRAVIS:

It was once my favorite hobby to terrorize nations.

MISTER ROJERS:

Let’s say good-bye now to our new friend, Mr. Tra-, er, Mr. Ter-, I mean, Mr. Na-, um... 

Okay, let’s just say “good-bye”!  Good-bye!  Good-bye!

TRAVIS:

I’ll be having the rummy eye replaced.  One’s image is important on HollywoodWorld and an eye-patch doesn’t set the right tone.  However, the hand stays as-is—it could come in useful while dealing with recalcitrant actors, unions, studio heads...  Really quite an all-purpose device, a hand-laser.

MISTER ROJERS:

Listen, I’ve been trying to talk to somebody about a Mr. Rojers’ Movie for years—do you know anyone with some dosh who might want back a kids’ movie that already has a great brand?

TINKLY MUSIC SWELLS AND PLAYS US OUT AND WE FADE OUT.

 

TO BE... CONTINUED?  MAYBE?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terry Nation, of course, invented the Daleks and eventually became rich by them. He was a guest at DSV ONE and shared a lot of fascinating stuff that about Doctor Who and Blake's 7, for instance that the Andromedans were, in his mind, meant to be Daleks, though the BBC would not allow him to use that name. THE MORE YOU KNOW!
> 
> Brian Croucher was once asked on a panel if Travis was the character's first or last name, and he did a wonderful homicidal-maniac glower at us all and said, "Don't ask!" Which was, of course, perfect and we all cheered.
> 
> That's it for ye olde DSV ONE programme book! If you'd like to see more interviews, please feel free to give me the name of a B7 character and, if you have a preference, a suggestion for who you might like to see interview them, and I'll do my best to bring you joy. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, all!


End file.
